i'll see you in the future
by in perpetuum
Summary: Life begins when you least expect it — The gang take on college. Sort of. /drabbles


**note**: Sorry, this is kind of awful.  
Also, I kind of like Claire in this. Is that weird? I feel like it.  
Strong T for the most part. I think.  
I did not come up with this format either - I can't remember who did, though.  
Title taken from _Laughter Lines_, by Bastille.

* * *

i'll see you in the future, when we're older

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cam/claire

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She calls him, with desperate fingers pressing into numbers she's sworn she's forgotten, and tears that hang like icicles from her lashes – because she's pathetic and stupid and can't let go.

It's a long shot that he'll pick up. That is, if he's even around.

Claire wouldn't if she were him, because she's spiteful, and she hopes he's not, but doesn't have to hope that much. They're not as alike as she once thought.

There's one ring, then two, then three, and she's about to hang up, blame it on a butt dial if he asks – he won't – when there's a click on the other end.

And it's his voice she hears, deep and perfect and so familiar: "Hello?"

"Hi," she says, and she sounds light and misguided and different, _so _different. "I…know I shouldn't call." She wonders if he can smell the tequila on her breath, the number of boys that have had their lips on hers before she stumbled into her dorm room that night.

Cam only laughs, like she's humoring him, and Claire doesn't remember saying anything funny, but the sound, the musical, masculine tinkle, warms her inside and out, gives her that feeling that only alcohol seems to provide these days.

"Why shouldn't you?" he asks.

She opens her mouth, closes it, remembers what her roommate told her. _"When you want to call him, don't." _She'll be disappointed when she finds out. Somehow, Claire's not too concerned.

"Because I'll say something stupid," she replies, and she knows he can smell the tequila now. All seven shots of it. "Something I wouldn't want you to know."

"Yeah?" Cam breathes, and his voice transports her back to a time when they would hide beneath her blankets, and he would map out the constellations on her bare skin. "Like what?"

"I miss you."

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alicia/plovert

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No one says anything when Alicia does it because she's that girl that falls from grace and never quite gets back up again.

But when he comes back, Westchester explodes. Parents are all a flurry with worry, as if something's _wrong _with him; he's the _smart_ one, they say. He's got a _future_. And they keep emphasizing words that don't mean a damn, not to her, at least. They imply he can go nowhere now that college is out of the question.

She bumps into him by accident. He never struck her as much of anything, but he's with her favorite dealer, and she's kind of pissed, but intrigued.

Because there she is, and there he is, and he's chasing ecstasy with gin – Chris Plovert: valedictorian, 4.0 GPA, 2400 SAT score, current Harvard dropout.

He's different, but somehow still the same. He doesn't have his glasses anymore, his hair's too long. She wonders if he stopped wearing polos, if he stopped correcting everyone when they were wrong.

"Rivera," he greets. His voice is harsher than she remembers.

"Heard you dropped out," is her response.

Chris' eyes roam her body – every bit as exposed as she can get. "Guessing you did, too."

"Of course," she drawls, because there's no use in trying to be ashamed of it. "Why?"

"Long story," he says. He's closer this time, and he smells spicy, which is odd. He always smelled like old paperbacks. "You don't care."

"You're right – I don't."

He smiles, and there's a catlike quality to it, all shining teeth and glinting eyes, like he's harboring a secret.

Then his lips are on hers, teeth biting into soft flesh, tongue plundering the wet cavern of her mouth. Her hands grip the long curls of his hair, tug fiercely. There's a sound that escapes the back of her throat – guttural and inhuman – and he pulls her skirt up the length of her body, squeezes her ass cheek with harsh fingers that are sure to leave a mark.

Alicia breaks away enough to remind him he can always take her home.

He takes her – hard thrusts that have her head banging against the wall – in a booth in a darkened corner instead.

"I forgot how good at that you are," she murmurs when it's over and she's pulling her skirt back down, the area between her legs throbbing.

Chris zips his fly, stops her from buttoning her top, and smirks.

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massie/derrick

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"You know," Derrick says, wiping his boots clean, "there was this girl – she puked on my shoes the first time I told her I loved her."

Massie looks up at him, eyes watery, wiping her mouth. _Never drink the punch_, she reminds herself. They really weren't kidding.

"Yeah?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Do you still?" She grabs paper towels, goes to dab at the mess she left on him. He swats her hand away. "Love her, I mean."

Derrick's at her level, two fingers beneath her chin. "I wouldn't be cleaning her vomit up for the second time if I didn't," he whispers, and even though the music is pounding, she can still hear it. He presses his mouth to her forehead, clammy and slick with sweat. "Come on – you can spend the night in my room. Josh won't mind."

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josh/dylan

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He goes to visit Cam, but finds Dylan instead.

They were never that good of friends, not even when they ran in the same circle, but he's relieved to see someone he knows – at least a little – at this monster of a party. Her hair's as red as ever, but he can't tell, not in this lighting, and she looks happy. Happier than he's ever seen her.

"_Josh_!" she squeals, throwing her arms around him like they're old friends. In way, he guesses they are. "What are you doing here? I didn't think you went here!"

"I – I don't," he splutters, taking the cup she hands him. "I go to school with Derrick."

"Right, right." She takes a sip of her drink, tilts her head. "Massie's there, too? How's she?"

Josh says, "Fine."

"Still dating, those two?"

"As nauseating as ever. You're lucky you've escaped them."

Dylan smiles again, though it's smaller and doesn't quite reach her eyes. "No." The word is wistful. "I don't think I am." She places her drink on the dirty countertop, grabs his hand. "Wanna get out of here? Get something to eat?"

He agrees, glad to be free of this place, the frat party scene he's not quite gotten used to yet.

She leads him through the throng of people, and he links their fingers together. Even after they've escaped them all, are out in the open air where he can finally breathe, they don't let go.

A part of Josh thinks maybe they're holding on to something more than each other.

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kristen/kemp

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Kristen gets a postcard from him every month from someplace new. This time, it's Greece.

_Kris:_

_I knew you wanted to come here someday, and I just wanted to tell you it's worth it. It really is._

_x, Kemp_

_(I'd still wait for you, you know. If you wanted to come along.)_

_(I'd wait forever.)_

Her fingers linger over his words, touching "forever" like it's a lifeline, before she tucks it away in the box beneath her bed, where the rest of them are.

Kemp was never a college guy, they all knew that. So, once the caps flew and the diplomas were framed on the mantel, he was off to explore the world, like they talked about, lying beneath the stars. He knocked on her door the day he was to leave, asked her to come with, live in motels and eat all the foreign cuisine they could stomach, and handled her rejection better than she could.

Sometimes, she wants to pack up everything and leave, hop on a plane and find him – reunite in some exotic land, make love in the sand.

But she can't follow her head and her heart at the same time.

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and we are full of stories to be told


End file.
